


Nightmares

by Kamie007



Series: Fluffy BBC Sherlock Oneshots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, fluffy fluff, soft sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 09:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamie007/pseuds/Kamie007
Summary: John has a nightmare and Sherlock tries to comfort him. Will he help, or will he make things worse? How will John react in the morning? Will they both just pretend nothing happened? Or will everything change?





	Nightmares

**Sherlock**

Today has been long, tedious, and boring. Long because I hadn't slept much the night before (didn't need to really), tedious because I was still tip-toeing around the fact that I'm in love with John (there I go again...), and boring because I still have not gotten a case that has been worth my time (Lestrade keeps calling me out to 3s and it's quite infuriating). I decide not to shoot the wall, even though the wall truly does ask for it, mainly because it would wake John. I'm not really certain why I feel the need to not wake him, I usually don't have a problem disregarding other's feelings in order to escape boredom, but somehow, John has crept past my defenses and makes me feel guilty whenever I do or say something hurtful to him. I've not really felt that before. 

But boredom, yes, boredom I am very well acquainted with, and at this moment, it is making its presence in my mind very plain. Perhaps I shall play the violin. But not too loudly, or else it would wake John too. Maybe one of my softer melodies would do the trick. 

Having made up my mind, I go to the window where I keep my music things stashed and start getting out the beautiful stringed instrument. While preparing the bow, my eyes wander past the clock, my mind registering the time.  _ 2:00 am.  _ I hesitate to play, thinking Mrs. Hudson might not appreciate being awoken at this hour.  _ John might not appreciate being awoken at this hour.  _

"Nobody asked for your opinion." I growl softly to myself, while pacifying my inner-thoughts with the idea that I'll be careful to play extra quiet. With that, I put the violin in its place under my chin and start playing. 

Halfway through the song, a beautiful and haunting melody, I hear a series of groans, thuds, and creaking. 

_ John's having a nightmare again.  _

I knew they had started returning in the past few weeks, but not because I heard him reacting to them in the middle of the night, but because I could see the aftereffects in the morning. But this time,  _ this time,  _ I can be there to stop the nightmare from continuing. I quickly and carefully put away my violin and quietly rushed up the stairs, still trying not to wake Mrs. Hudson. As I reach his door, I hesitate, then push open the door to see John writhing in the middle of the bed, covers thrown to the floor haphazardly, arms and legs fighting a battle with an invisible enemy. At first I pause, not sure what to do. Then, almost like instinct, my body starts moving me closer to the bed until I feel my knees touch the mattress. I then lift my leg and sit carefully on the edge, reaching toward John's restless figure. I can see the tears streaming down his face in the pale moonlight. I'm not sure if I should just wake him up or just try to settle the dream into something more peaceful. I decide to try calling out to him first and see what happens. I don't want to touch him in fear of a violent reaction. I have no idea what is happening in his dream. For all I know, a gentle touch from me could translate to a punch to the face in the dream, if not something worse.  _ Talking is definitely a better option for now.  _

"john. John. JOHN." My voice growing in strength and volume, starting at barely a whisper and ending in something a little louder than my normal speaking voice. 

I wait for a moment, but the nightmare appears to become more violent, so I decide to take the risk and pull myself completely onto the bed and take the struggling man into my arms. Instinct again kicks in and I place his head onto my chest, my mouth by his ear, whispering soft words of comfort to his subconscious while holding his writhing body close to me, preventing him from hurting either one of us. I hear the change in his breathing as he starts waking from his troubled sleep, and his limbs start weakening their fight until they stilled completely. I know he's totally awake when his body goes from complete relaxation to rigid panic in my embrace. He's uncomfortable. I should probably let him go now.  _ I don't want to.  _

"Sherlock?" John whispers into my chest, his body still mostly rigid. 

"Yes, John, it's me. I-I heard you thrashing about from downstairs and I came to make your nightmare go away. Did-did it work?" I half-speak half-whisper, my mouth still pressed against his temple right above his left ear. As the words leave my mouth, I can feel him start to relax, and as the rigidness of fear of the unknown person clutching him fades, he starts to tremble with the exertion of his nightmare. He still hasn't answered me. I think he's trying to keep himself composed while I'm here. Perhaps I should leave him to deal with the aftermath.  _ I don't want to leave.  _ There goes that pesky thought of mine. I really should do something about that. After all, I'm a sociopath, and he's "not gay."  _ I still don't want to leave.  _

"John, do you want me to leave?"  _ Please say no.  _ Shut up. Please say yes. Let me get out of this awkward situation. 

_ I don't really want to go.  _

"No, Sherlock. I want you to stay. You helped." 

John's voice is unsteady, and I can't help but feel relieved that he asked me to stay. I feel his arms snake around my torso, holding me just as tightly as I am holding him. A few seconds pass and he starts to sob into my shirt, both of our defenses shattered. 

"John, do you want to talk about what that nightmare contained that scared you this badly?"

He shakes his head no and just continues to cry into my chest. I nod understandingly and just lay there holding him as he falls asleep slowly. Shortly afterward, I find my own eyes slowly drifting down until there is nothing but peaceful slumber for me as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**John**

The first thing I notice as I wake is the fact that my head is not resting on a pillow. It's hard, but not like the floor, and, oh God, it's moving! What the-

My eyes snap open and the action of physically awakening helps to jog my memory.  _ Sherlock.  _ I'm laying on Sherlock, inside of Sherlock's embrace, no less. 

Why did I ask him to stay? He basically begged for me to let him leave.  _ What if he didn't really want to leave, but thought you wanted him to?  _

No, no, that's wishful thinking. Can't have any of that. 

I try to lift my head carefully, attempting to not disturb the sleeping man under me, but it's then that I notice his head was resting on top of mine all night long. I really need to get up.  _ No, you don't. You want to stay.  _ Sherlock really does make a comfortable sleeping place. Maybe I will just lay here for a moment more. Before I can catch myself, my head starts burrowing into Sherlock's chest, like I do to my pillow when I don't want to get up in the morning. I feel Sherlock's breathing change, and he starts moving underneath me. He then gives a moan, which I feel through my head on his chest, a deep rumbling sensation that makes me want to- wait, makes me want to what? I mean, I'm not gay. I've never been gay. I've had girlfriend after girlfriend throughout my entire life!  _ And yet where are you right now? In bed snuggled up with a man, and enjoying every second.  _ No, I cannot think like this. I have to get out of here. I have to pretend like this never happened; at least until I can finish that question: makes me want to what? 

My decision made, I start disentangling myself from Sherlock and getting out of the bed, forgetting that he had woken up. That is, until I hear his voice. 

"John, are you ok?"

That's all he has to say to make me want to crawl right back into that bed beside him and-again...what do I want for this man? From this man? 

In this case, a lie will have to suffice. 

"Yeah, I'm fine now. Thank you, Sherlock." I give him a small smile, trying to display earnestness. I can see the concern in his eyes, but there was something else there too. Fear. Fear of what?  _ Fear of you being disgusted to find yourself in bed with him.  _ For once, I don't argue with my inner thoughts. 

"You want to go downstairs for a cup of tea, Sherlock?"

Sherlock almost seems surprised at my question, or maybe it was my tone. Soft and gentle, like it's never been on the morning after any of my dates with women. 

But this wasn't a date. This was just a friend helping a friend sleep through the night. 

_ No, normal friends drag you into a cold shower or shove you off the bed. Lovers crawl into the bed and sleep the night away with you.  _

"Yes, I would love a cup of tea." Sherlock answered, strangely careful in tone, as he slid off of my bed. I notice he's still wearing the clothes he wore yesterday, which means he was probably in the sitting room when he heard my nightmare reaction. I probably don't want to know what time of the night that took place. Thinking of time, I grab my phone off the charger and glance at the time as I make my way to the kitchen.  _ 8:30.  _ I don't have to go into work today, thank goodness, but who knows what kind of trouble Sherlock will find for us today. 

As I put the kettle onto the stove to boil the water, I hear Sherlock coming out of his bedroom, then he enters the kitchen wearing gray joggers and a t-shirt with his silk robe hanging from his shoulders. I guess that means he isn't planning on leaving the flat for at least a few hours. I can't help but let my eyes wander over him, taking in every detail my mind can absorb about him. I don't really realize that I'm staring until I hear Sherlock clear his throat and observe the steady flush taking over his face. I give a start, my own face flushing slightly, then turn to get our mugs out, along with Sherlock's favorite tea. As I stand there preparing the tea, waiting for the water to boil, I feel Sherlock staring at me. I want to say something, but I figure it might be best to just pretend like I don't notice. It's not like he didn't just catch me staring at him or anything. I feel slightly uncomfortable with the intensity of his stare. I can almost feel him deducing me in that beautiful head of his, with those black curls that just beg for me to- again, the question that haunts me. What do I want? I'm spaced out, and I don't notice the shuffling of footsteps behind me until I feel two thin arms trap me against the counter, a strong chest pressing against my back, and hot, fast breath on the side of my neck. My mind is in chaos. One thought keeps circling in my thoughts: I want  _ him.  _ Everything about him.  _ I want him.  _ I turn quickly to face him, and we are much closer than I at first expected us to be. I look into his eyes, and when our eyes meet, he smirks. 

"Why are you smirking?" 

I had to ask. 

"Close proximity induced pupil dilation, quick breathing, and increased heartbeat. You know what that means, don't you?" His smirk never falling as he references his experience with The Woman in what I called  _ The Scandal In Belgravia _ .  

I look into his eyes, and my eyes open a little wider, and my breath catches when I realize  _ his pupils are dilated.  _

He laughs as he recognizes my shock, leaning back unconsciously. I miss having him close, so I reach out and grab his robe, pulling him back into my space, not thinking about what the consequences could be. Not caring. Sherlock's eyes grow large then I watch them flutter closed as he leans closer to me. I take a deep breath, then let my own eyes shut as I close the distance between us, allowing my lips to meet his in a short, sweet kiss. 

"Sherlock, I've been asking myself a question for several weeks now. It would often come to mind when I looked at you, noticed something about you. I would start to say how I wanted to...but then I would cut myself off and not allow the thought to continue, but I always wondered what I wanted to do. It wasn't till now that I realized that I don't want a specific action. The answer to the question 'what do I want' does not include the word 'to'. The answer that I have been searching for is I want  _ you.  _ Not just to run my fingers across your cheekbones, not just to run my hands through your hair, not even just to kiss you, but to have you, Sherlock, all of you. Everything about you. I want to be yours. For you to be mine." 

Sherlock looks at me with tears in his eyes, smiles, and simply says, "I want you, too," before pulling me back in for our second kiss of many to come.

 

 

  
  



End file.
